Short Stories

Jane Eyre

By: Charlotte Brontë

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It was a fine, calm day, though very cold; I was tired of sitting still in the library through a whole long morning. Mrs Fairfax had just written a letter which was waiting to be posted, so I put on my bonnet and cloak and volunteered to carry it to Hay; the distance, two miles, would be a pleasant winter walk.

The ground was hard, the air was still, my road was lonely; I walked fast until I got warm, and then I walked slowly to enjoy and analyse the situation. I was in a lane noted for wild roses in summer, for nuts and blackberries in autumn, but whose best winter delight lay in its utter solitude and leafless repose. If a breath of air stirred, it made no sound here; for there was not a holly, not an evergreen to rustle, and the stripped hawthorn and hazel bushes were as still as the white, worn stones which causewayed the middle of the path.

The lane inclined uphill all the way to Hay. Having reached the middle, I sat down on a stile which led into a field. Gathering my mantle around me, I did not feel the cold, though it froze keenly, as was attested by a sheet of ice covering the causeway, where a little brook had overflowed after a rapid thaw some days since. I lingered until the sun went down amongst the trees, and sank crimson and clear behind them. I turned eastward. Hay, half lost in the trees, sent up a blue smoke from its few chimneys; it was yet a mile distant but in the absolute hush could plainly hear its thin murmurs of life.

A rude noise broke in in these fine whisperings, at once so far away and so clear; a positive tramp, tramp and metallic clatter. The din was on the causeway: a horse was coming; the windings of the lane yet hid it, but it approached. I was just leaving the stile, yet as the path was so narrow, I sat still to let it go by.

It was very near, but not yet in sight, when, in addition to the tramp, tramp, I heard a rush under the hedge, and close down by the hazel stems glided a great dog, whose black and white colour made him a distinct object against the trees. The horse followed - a tall steed and on its back a rider. He passed, and I went on a few steps and I turned. A sliding sound, and an exclamation, and a clattering tumble arrested my attention. man and horse were down; they had slipped on the sheet of ice which glazed the causeway. The dog came bounding back and seeing his master in a predicament, and hearing horse groan barked until the evening hills echoed the sound. He snuffed around the prostrate group and then he ran up to me; it was all he could do - there was no other help to summon. I obeyed him and walked down to the traveller, by this time struggling to free himself of his steed. His efforts were so vigorous, I thought he could not be much hurt, so I asked him -

'Are you injured, sir? Can I do anything?' I asked.

'You must stand to one side,' he answered as he rose, first to his knees, and then to his feet. The traveller felt his foot and leg; apparently, something ailed them, for he halted at the stile and sat down.

'If you are hurt and want help sir, I can fetch someone.'

'Thank you. I have no broken bones - only a sprain,' and again he stood up, tried his foot but the result was an involuntary groan.

In two minutes he rose from the stile; his face expressed pain when he tried to move.

He said, 'You may help me yourself, if you will be so kind. Try to get hold of my horse's bridle and lead him to me - you are not afraid?'

I should have been afraid to touch a horse when alone, but when told to, I felt I had to obey. I made effort on effort, though in vain. I endeavoured to catch the bridle, but it was a spirited thing and would not let me near. I was mortally afraid of its trampling forefeet. The traveller waited and watched for some time, and at last, he laughed.